


It seems it's written

by Cam_elot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Silly Boys, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Teen Mycroft Holmes/Teen Greg Lestrade, Teen Romance, mystrade, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cam_elot/pseuds/Cam_elot
Summary: Greg mistakes Mycroft for someone else and suddenly everything changes.





	It seems it's written

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monkiainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkiainen/gifts).



> I wrote this fic as part of the Holmestice Exchange - Summer 2019, so I want to say thank you so much for doing such a great job Holmestice mods ♥️ (especially putting up with people -me- asking for extensions and being anxious messes...)  
> Eternal thanks to my marvelous beta @the_hopeless_existentialist, I absolutely loved your inputs and ideas as always ♥️

The early summer sun rays bounced around the familiar swimming pool; reflecting in the water, on the high windows and on the tiled floors and walls. The light was almost too bright even inside the building. Greg frowned, forcing himself to ignore the distracting lights and focus on the lane in front of him. Somewhere on his left the coach blew the whistle and his body answered the call on instinct. In seconds, his body sprung from his crouched starting stance into a quick and perfect line, diving into the water like an arrow. Nothing else existed aside from the stretch of his body, the ache in his arms and shoulders, the burn in his thighs and feet and the push of the water against him. Everything was a blurry mix of blue, white and the flitting shapes of his teammates’ body in the adjacent lanes.  
His hand slapped the wall at the end of the lane, and for a couple of seconds Greg enjoyed the rush of adrenaline still going through him, his vision blurry at the edges and his breath coming in pants, sounding loud even in the noise of the swimming pool.  
James slapped his hand on the wall in the lane next to him before slipping his goggles off, cursing.

“That was a shite time” he grumbled, his dark red hair flattened against his forehead.

“You’re telling me!” The voice above them boomed angrily. Both boys winced before looking up at their coach looming over them. “That was your worst time since last semester Smith! Lestrade not too bad, can do better. Don't forget your bloody goggles next time and you might actually get a decent time.” His flip-flops squeaked on the tiles as he went to rail against the rest of the team, still panting in the other lanes.

James rolled his eyes at his back.“What a jerk” he muttered under his breath, “you did great even without the bloody goggles and he knows it.”

Greg rubbed his burning eyes wishing he hadn't forgotten them.

“I don't care what he says, I only swim-”

“Because it's fun yeah yeah we know.”

Before Greg could do more than frown and open his mouth to retort, James suddenly lifted himself above the line of floats and landed on Greg, pushing him under the water. When Greg found his way back to the surface, sputtering water all over the place, James was cackling and swimming away to the side of the pool to get out.

“Skinny wanker !” With a shout Greg was on his teammate, pushing him in turn under the water.

They half fought half played in the water for a few minutes, quickly joined by the rest of the team before their bellowing coach made them scatter.

“Last in the water has to put all the gear away!”

Greg hauled himself out of the chlorinated water as fast as he could, but when he looked up he met James’ smirk and dancing eyes beneath his friend’s red fringe.

“No don’t…!”

The push to his chest made him land back in the water with a loud splash. When he came back to the surface all his teammates were running away to the showers, leaving him alone with the pile of gear on the side of the pool.  
With a sigh and a frown, Greg finally pulled himself out of the water.

 

* * * *

 

Mycroft tried to look away when Greg Lestrade hauled himself out of the water in one fluid movement, water sliding from his tanned skin and his tiny trunks hugging his round ass.  
With a gulp, he turned away and walked slowly to the showers, his own pale skin covered in goosebumps and his slightly-too-big trunks bunching around the top of his thighs.  
The changing rooms and showers were noisy and full of teenagers, as if swimming lessons were not hell enough, Mycroft had to go through the ignominy of common showers.  
He silently locked himself in a cubicle with his bag and sat down on the tiny bench, waiting for the rest of the world to leave him in peace.  
In the cubicles next to him two boys were chatting loudly through the wooden walls.

“I’m telling you, she has a black hand now!”

“Man stop it, she’s like 15. She can’t have a black hand already.”

“Well it happens, remember Nicholson last year?”

“Yeah but that’s-”

“The same happened for Maggie, and right in front of both their parents.”

“Urgh that’s the worst!”

“Yeah… my mom is crazy happy, it’s gross.”

“At least it’s your cousin and not you.”

Mycroft chewed on his lip, not sure how to feel about the news of a 15 years old having a black hand. It did happen, and Nicholson had showed up in school one day with a black hand the previous year, but it still felt like a urban legend sometimes.  
People were not supposed to meet their Companion before they were actual adults. Some people never met anyone who would leave Ink on them, marking them as their Companion for life. Mycroft own grand-parents had not been Inked, although his parents were. He hated how everyone was so ceremonious about the First Touch, how every new person you met you were supposed to press hands with to see if a deep black stain would appear where your skin had just been in contact. Just in case, that’s what they always said..  
He still did it, with every new introduction, at the start of every year with the other kids of his class and the new teachers. They had all heard the stories of the weird body parts some people had Ink and no one wanted to end up with a black stain on their face because of an accidental touch.

The boy whose cousin got her Black Hand at 15 left the changing rooms, still chatting with his friend about how embarrassing it was to get Inked in front of one’s parents.  
Silence followed their departure, and after a breath Mycroft crept out of his cubicle with his towel around his hips. The showers were empty, and with a sigh of relief he hung his towel on the wall and turned on the water, stepping under the stream.

 

* * * *

 

The swimming pool had fallen silent when Greg finally finished putting away all the gear they had used during today's training. Even the kids from the school-required lessons were gone. With an heavy frown and dragging feet, Greg finally made his way to the showers. His eyes were still burning from the chlorine and he kept rubbing them even if the only thing it did was making things even more blurry for him.  
Someone was still in the showers and Greg squinted at the tall figure before grinning when he recognised James’ pale skin, skinny legs and red hair. He padded in silence to his teammate, biting his lip not to giggle and ruin the joke, blinking against the steam.

With a flourish he jumped next to the other boy and gave him a rough slap on the arse, a shit-eating grin on his face and a joyful “Wake up wanker!”.

 

* * * *

 

Something landed on his right butt cheek, making him jump and his skin tingle. It had not been painful but the shock of it made his heart race against his ribcage.  
He faced a shocked looking Greg Lestrade, who had just slapped him on the arse and called him a wanker.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” shrieked Mycroft walking backwards from Greg, his hands shaking.

He was completely nude in front of the most gorgeous boy in school. This could not be happening.

“I'm so sorry! I thought you were... you look so... I mean from behind…” He blushed furiously at his last word, eyes suddenly fleeting downwards Mycroft's body. The shower chose this moment to stop, leaving them in a heavy silence.

With a growl he did not know he had in him, Mycroft hid himself from the other boy's eyes, face pale and eyes blazing.

“Get the fuck out!” He spat with all the venom and dignity he could muster while still cupping himself.

Greg turned around and fled the scene, the slap of his bare feet resonating on the tiles as he ran down the corridor.

Mycroft grabbed his towel with shaking hands, his jaw so rigid it hurt.  
He didn't remember drying off and putting his uniform back on, but he must have done as he found himself, outside in the street walking towards home.  
Nobody was home when he got there; both his parents still at work and Sherlock at his violin lesson. He went directly to his room and took of his clothes with jerky movements, leaving them in a pile near the door. As he slipped into his pyjamas he caught his reflection in the high mirror near his wardrobe. Something black had flashed in his field of vision.  
In panic he pushed his pyjama bottoms down to his thighs, and there, right there on his right arse cheek was a mark, the shape of a hand, in deep black ink.

 

* * * *

Greg pushed the library’s heavy door open, the quiet and coolness of the place making him feel out of place. Light was pooling on the wooden floors from the high windows, but it didn’t reach far enough to warm the vast room. He adjusted the strap of his backpack where it rested on his shoulder, nodding to the bored looking woman behind the desk. She ignored him, like she usually did when he came around the library to study, read in peace or stare at the cute boy he’d had a crush on for months now.

Mycroft Holmes always sat at the same table, in the quieter section of the library, serious-looking books surrounding him as he took notes and wrote diligently on white paper from one edge to the other. His neat, tight handwriting covering the pages, leaving no margins or space for annotations. Greg would usually seat in the row behind him, or across the aisle, sneaking glances at Mycroft’s pale neck, the freckles running along his jaw and the way he sometimes tapped the point of his shoe on the floor in an unknown rhythm.

Today he walked right to the end of the main aisle, turned left and went to stand next to the familiar figure. As he waited nervously for Mycroft to stop writing and look up, he wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers, wishing he could be a bit more cool and collected.  
Mycroft finally stopped writing but did not look at him, his eyes glued to his notes and his jaw set in a hard line.

“If you’re done breathing down my neck, I would like some peace and quiet now.”

“I uh…” Greg swallowed heavily around the lump in his throat. “I wanted to apologise. For yesterday.”

“You’ve done it already.”

Mycroft’s shoulders and back looked so tense it had to be painful.

“I know” mumbled Greg, feeling like the stupidest person alive, “I just wanted to make sure…” he faltered not sure how to finish his thoughts. “I just wanted to know if you… are you mad at me?”

This made the other boy turn his head slowly and stare him in the eyes. Greg felt his neck and cheeks suddenly burning in embarrassment at the clear annoyance and disdain on Mycroft’s face.

“I’m not mad.” His voice was clipped and hard. “I just don’t care about you.”

The lump in Greg’s throat had grown so big that for a second he wasn’t sure he’ll be able to breathe again. He swallowed painfully around it, nodded once and left.

Mycroft listened to his footsteps fading as Greg walked away. The heavy door closed behind the dark haired boy with the wide eyes and soft pretty mouth. His clenched jaw was painful. So were his fingers gripping the edge of the table. It did not stop the tears silently rolling down his cheeks.

“Fuck” he mumbled under his breath, quickly rubbing his face with his sleeve. At least no-one was around him to see him lose his cool. Mummy would be so disappointed if she could see him right now.

He swallowed heavily, fighting back the new wave of panic and tears menacing to overflow. His crying in the library would probably be the least of his mother’s worries if she knew about The Mark.  
He took a deep breath, quickly put his notes and pen away and left the library in a hurry. She never had to know, nobody had to really. It was Greg’s Intent, his intentional touch that had marked Mycroft, but he would never get any Ink himself if Mycroft never touched him.  
Greg would never know, not unless Mycroft told him. His fingers twisted angrily at the fabric of his trouser pocket. The unfairness of the situation making him want to scream at the other boy. Greg didn’t have to hide a Mark, or stress over the fact that he was an Inked teenager. Mycroft fantasized for a second about pushing his hand all over Greg’s face and leave his own Mark there for the world to see. But he couldn’t bear with the idea to do that to someone, especially someone he got Inked by.  
He could keep his Mark to himself, hide it forever and never let his mother or anyone else know.

A nagging voice at the back of his mind was repeating that he was being over-dramatic, and that he would sentence Greg to be Companionless too.  
He ignored it and kept walking out of school. He didn’t have time to think about the Mark on his arse or the boy who had put it there.  
He had exams coming up in a few weeks and then at uni to prepare for.  
Greg could be sad and apologetic all he wanted, Mycroft didn’t care. He did not care.

 

* * * *

 

It had been three weeks since the ‘shower incident’. Greg was trying to get over it. He really was, but Mycroft kept avoiding him, and as much as Greg tried to do the same he couldn’t keep the other boy out of his mind.

After a week without visiting the library and only seeing Mycroft from afar in corridors between classes, Greg began dreaming.  
Nothing really happened in the dreams, he was standing in a classroom or in the halls. No one was there except Mycroft. They wouldn’t touch or look at each other, just stand close and listen to the other breathe. Feeling him so close made Greg crave contact, all his skin tingling at the idea of Mycroft’s touch on him. Sometimes he would feel Mycroft’s breath on the nape of his neck. Other times all he could feel was the heat of his body through their clothes.

He always woke up with a start, out of breath and hard in his pyjama bottoms. Guilt was not enough to stop him touching himself while fantasizing about Mycroft, but after the dreams began, he stopped looking for the other boy’s head in the corridors. He couldn’t bear the idea of Mycroft’s intense eyes on him again. Something in him kept telling him that the redhead would know. One look at Greg’s face and he would know all the thoughts, the fantasies and the times he’s spent with his hand around himself and Mycroft’s name hidden in his pillow as he came.

There were only a couple of months left before the end of school. Then he wouldn’t have to see Mycroft ever again. The thought did not reassure him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth instead.

 

* * * *

 

He couldn't feel Greg's dark eyes on him anymore. The boy stopped looking in the corridors for him, he hadn't show up at the library again and Mycroft had skipped every swimming lessons since that day.

He did not miss it. The heavy weight of Greg Lestrade on the nape of his neck, making his skin tingle and his cheeks heat up in delight at the attention. No. Not delight. Anger. And annoyance.  
There was nothing to miss!

And if those dark eyes looking up at him from under thick lashes tended to flash in his mind when he was touching himself in the morning, it didn't matter.  
It did not matter.

Mycroft was repeating the mantra in his head as he stirred his yogurt grumpily at the breakfast table. An unexpected elbow suddenly found its way under his ribs and Mycroft jumped a mile up on his chair, his spoon bouncing on the table, smearing yogurt on the table cloth.

“Mycroft!” He didn't even have time to frown at Sherlock's smug face by his side, before their mother was already scowling him.

“I hope you'll behave better than that on Friday! Putting food everywhere like a three year old!” Her disappointed face was always the hardest to watch, and she liked to use it frequently towards her eldest son.

“Yes mummy.” He mumbled, cleaning the split yogurt with his napkin.

“What's on Friday?”

Sherlock's chirpy little voice rose from beside him, smiling innocently.  
Sometimes Mycroft really hated him.

“Marianne is coming for dinner. She's the charity's latest recruit, the least I could do was invite her over to make her feel included.”

Sherlock had lost interest in the answer almost immediately and was obnoxiously slurping his tea. Their mum ignored him, which Mycroft thought was really unfair.

“She's coming with her son. She speaks wonders of the boy, he's at Sherrinford’s too, Mycroft, but a year younger than you so I doubt you two are in the same circles.”

Mycroft’s circle being him and his books, there was a very good chance she was right, he thought gloomily.

“Anyway, Gregory seems like a nice boy so I expect both of you to be-”

“Gregory? Greg Lestrade?”

The blood had flown away from Mycroft's face with such a rush he felt almost dizzy.

“Yes, Gregory Lestrade.” His mum took her time sipping her tea while Mycroft was doing his best not to die from a heart attack during breakfast. “So you do know him?”

She stared at him with piercing eyes and Mycroft felt his face set in his usual coolness on instinct.

“Only by name. He's the captain of our swimming team.”

“Ah.” Her lips pursed in her usual disapproving pout. Mummy did not like sports very much. 

“Nevertheless I expect both of you to be on your best behavior.”

She stared at them both, making even Sherlock stop fidgeting, before going back to her toast.  
That morning Mycroft did not finish his breakfast.

 

* * * *

 

Mycroft strode through the crowded corridors until he saw the familiar dark-haired head, among the sea of students, near the biology lab’s door.

“I need to talk to you.”

Greg just stood there, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Mycroft Holmes, suddenly appearing out of nowhere, was standing next to him after avoiding him for weeks. His pale fingers were painfully clutched around his elbow.

“Now.” Mycroft’s tone became urgent when Greg didn’t react, and he lightly shook the other boy with his hand still on his elbow, to emphasize how pressing the matter was.

“O-ok” Greg had no time to process what was happening before Mycroft pulled him into a small classroom a few doors down the hall.

It was the Latin classroom, Greg had never set foot in it before. Mycroft had opened the door with his head boy key, and was now putting it back in his pocket, without looking at Greg.

“You and your mother have been invited by my mother, to attend dinner this Friday. I need you to refrain from coming.”

Mycroft's voice was just as cold as the last time they talked in the library. But this time he didn't make any sense.

“I- uh what?”

“Dinner. Friday. Do not come.” Repeated the redhead slowly, this time staring him down with a sneer.

Greg felt his neck and cheeks heat up, not sure if it was the other boy's intense and piercing blue eyes on him, or out of anger for being spoken to like an idiot.  
He puffed out his chest with bravado and frowned right back.

“And why would I do that? My mum told yours that I would be there and I already said yes so…”

Mycroft’s lips went very thin before he opened his mouth again, probably to put him down again, so Greg beat him to it.

“And just so you know, I had no idea we were invited to your house! Mum just mentioned 'Violet’ so I couldn't know.”

He crossed his arms on his chest, chin held high.

“I'm not going to make my mum feel bad by bailing on her just because you hate me.” His jaw was set. “You can ignore me all you want and be mad, I've done a shitty thing I get it, I'm sorry, but I won't let down my mum just because you can’t stand me.”

Mycroft blinked at him, his frown disappearing in a surprised expression. Greg lost his cool for a moment, both puzzled and amazed by how Mycroft's emotions were so suddenly on display. He looked pissed off and embarrassed, his eyes jumping between Greg, the floor and the door.

“What-?”

“Nothing” mumbled Mycroft quickly, his left hand fingers twisting his trouser's pocket. “Look just… it would be for the best if you don't come. Trust me, you don't want to let it happen.”

“Let it happen?” Greg's frown was back, but he let his arms fall at his sides, not sure how he felt at Mycroft's obvious distress. “Let what happen?”

The redhead groaned in frustration and turned away, pushing his hands in his hair. The gesture was so spontaneous, a shocking display of emotions and vulnerability, so unlike anything Mycroft Holmes ever revealed.

“You are going to make me tell you, is that right?” whispered Mycroft. He was facing the opposite wall and Greg could only see the rigid set of his shoulder under his uniform and his long pale fingers gripping the back of his head.

He breathed heavily for a moment before talking again.

“I can't let you be there on Friday because when we will greet each other we will be expected to press palms.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I don't… I don't see how-”

Mycroft interrupted Greg's unsure voice, still facing away. The tips of his fingers were buried in his dark red hair and Greg couldn't look away.

“If we press palms, yours is going the get Black.”

This time the silence was heavy and lasted for longer.

“How do you know-” Greg's voice was hoarse and sounded distant to his own ears. He felt like someone had pushed him at the bottom of the swimming pool with no time to get a proper gulp of air beforehand. “How do you know we'll get black hands?”

“We won't. You will.”

“What do you mean-”

“Isn't it obvious?!” Mycroft had swirled around facing him, his cheeks still red, a snarl pulling his mouth down and eyes blazing. “You already marked me!”

It took a few seconds for Greg's brain to stop screaming ‘No! Not true! Impossible!’ while he stood there with his mouth opened in shock.  
And then he realised.

He had touched him for the very first time, with intent, that day in the showers.  
His hand had been on Mycroft's arse.  
He had left his mark on him.

When Greg was able to move, shut his mouth and put his eyes back in their sockets, Mycroft had sat down. He was pale and tensed, curled up on himself with his eyes screwed shut and his arms around his torso.

He looked like everything was crumbling around him. And Greg realised that it was probably exactly what had been happening for the last few weeks. And he had kept it to himself, he probably hadn’t told anyone before now.

Mycroft startled when Greg touched his elbow. The dark haired boy was crouched in front of him, his face open and earnest.

“Mycroft” he whispered, almost scared to say the name aloud after spending so much time muffling it with his pillow. “You should have told me.”

The redhead didn’t react, his eyes wary. Greg took a deep breath.

“And you should touch me too.”

Mycroft startled and moved away from Greg's gentle hand on his arm.

“You should mark me too, when it's just the two of us.” Greg insisted. He put his hand away from the unsure looking boy in front of him.

“We can't let people know.” Mycroft finally said, fingers twisting the end of his tie.

Greg frowned. He knew teenagers getting black palms was not very common. In some circles it was even heavily frown-upon. Was Mycroft from this kind of family? Would he get in trouble for being marked so young?

“Ok” mumbled Greg “Well then, you can do it somewhere no-one is going to see.”

Mycroft went beetroot red again and Greg flushed in answer.

“I meant somewhere like my hip!” he said quickly. After a bit of silence he spoke again in a quivering voice “Thought it would be fair for you to er… mark me somewhere more… private.” He swallowed heavily, his heart beating in his throat. “Since I… you know, marked you on the-”

“Yes I know!” Mycroft’s voice was high and panicky, his eyes on the door.

Greg stood up, and the sudden motion seemed to panic Mycroft even more, his chair squeaking on the floor as he pushed it backwards.

Taking a deep breath, Greg opened his arms, his body on display.

“Ok where do you want to do it?” His own business-like tone surprised him almost as much as Mycroft.

“Wha- not now surely?!”

“The sooner the better.” Now that they had a plan, Greg wanted to get through with it as soon as possible.

Mycroft sputtered, his eyes glancing nervously to the door. With a sigh, Greg went to it and turned the look before coming back to stand in front of Mycroft who was still sat down.

“I know it’s… weird.” He mumbled, nervously wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. “But I would rather do it now, with no-one else around, when we can choose where you’ll er… mark me.” His last words had left his mouth in a rush. “So, is the hip alright?”

It took a few more seconds for Mycroft to finally get his bearings back. He nodded once and sat up, back straight and rigid in his usual posture. The sight was a relief to Greg, he had seen the other boy like this a dozen of times. His intense gaze were usually on his books and notes and not on Greg’s stomach, but it was still a familiar picture.

Greg untucked his shirt and pushed it up under his armpits, shamelessly putting his torso on display. Mycroft’s eyes darted around before he quickly looked away, staring at the floor instead. He swallowed heavily and Greg couldn’t help but stare at his bobbing Adam’s apple, heat and embarrassment flowing into his stomach at the memories of his late nights fantasies.

“I uh… you should do it a bit low because with my swimming trunks…” He waved at his hip awkwardly. “So don’t freak out ok? I’m just going to…” He didn’t finished his sentence, not trusting his already croaky voice, and quickly opened his belt and the button of his trouser before sliding them down over his right hip.

Mycroft did freak out a little. He did his best to keep it hidden, but he was more and more convinced that Gregory Lestrade had some unknown powers that made him, Mycroft Holmes, incapable of keeping his head around him.

When Greg’s lower hip appeared, Mycroft couldn’t help but stare at him. He had been able to refrain from ogling at Greg’s torso too much when he had pushed his shirt up, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the thin dark trail of hairs under his navel, stretching to the top of his trousers, where it became thicker before disappearing under the band of his underwear. The skin nested under his jutting hip bone looked almost golden in the afternoon light of the classroom.

“Is it... is there Ok?” Greg’s voice was low and soft, but something raw gave an edge to his question. His hand, clenched around the hem of his trousers, pushed the fabric a bit lower, the side of his thumb grazing the skin where his hairs were beginning to spread out.

Mycroft blinked and the panic in his chest calmed down until there was nothing else around him but his own deep breathing and the warm smell of Greg’s skin. He looked up at this boy who had had a special place in his mind since the first day he had showed up at school.

Greg’s chest felt painful with how hard his heart was beating against his ribs. Mycroft’s eyes looked very dark surrounded by his red eyelashes and pale cheekbones. He kept staring up at Greg, as he drew closer and closer, until he closed his eyes with a flutter.  
All Greg could see was his dark red brow and his nose dusted with tiny freckles, as Mycroft gently brushed his mouth on the tender skin under his hip bone. The touch tingled, soft and fragile.

He couldn’t stop staring at Mycroft as the boy sat back in the chair, his dark blue eyes still staring at Greg’s hip. He didn’t really care about the mark, not in that moment. All he wanted was to feel these lips against his, Ink or no Ink.

“Can I kiss you?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think it through.  
Mycroft jumped a little, pulled out of his thoughts. He stared up at Greg, looking nervous and unsure, but nodded anyway.

The first press of lips was a bit too forceful to be enjoyable, but they tried again, clinging tightly to each other. Mycroft still sat on the chair, his nervous fingers digging too hard in Greg’s forearms and his brow tensed. Greg’s sweaty hands creased Mycroft’s sleeves as he turned gently his head to press more kisses on his Companion’s mouth.

He could feel air brushing his naked hip, and smiled against Mycroft’s mouth.

 

* * * *

His parents and Greg’s mother were all Inked, and Sherlock was not yet of age for First Touches. So when Violet opened the front door to Greg and his mother, everybody politely greeted one another before making room for Mycroft and Greg to press palms.

Greg’s grin was infectious, and Mycroft was doing his best not to smile back as they gently pressed their palms together. As soon as they pulled away their unmarked hands, Violet moved things to the living room, obvious relief in the air.

Behind her, when no one was watching, Greg softly stroked his forefinger against the back of Mycroft’s hand, a secret smile on both their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I'm writing a soulmates!AU, I had a lot of fun doing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it ♥️


End file.
